


Their Kind of People

by lithle



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Happy Ending, M/M, Mild Angst, POV Multiple, Post-War, Unorthodox Undercover Work Mini Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21683311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lithle/pseuds/lithle
Summary: To escape an unexpected and unwanted entanglement from her past, Relena convinces Duo to propose to her during a Christmas party. But Duo's been pining after Wufei for years, and Relena's barely repressing her feelings for Quatre. As their friends react (poorly) to news of the engagement, long buried feelings are finally forced into the light.Art by Dragonchilde in chapter 4.
Relationships: Chang Wufei/Duo Maxwell, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Relena Peacecraft/Quatre Raberba Winner, Trowa Barton/Heero Yuy, Zechs Merquise/Lucrezia Noin
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32
Collections: Unorthodox Undercover Work Mini Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2019 Gundam Wing Mini Bang, Unorthodox Undercover Work. Special thanks to my betas, weiclown and StringTheori. And applause to the amazing artist Dragonchilde for providing illustration.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relena's POV

_Quatre: Don't be ridiculous Wufei, you can't skip it. Relena would be heartbroken._

_Wufei: You can fuss over her delicate feelings all you like. I don't care._

_Quatre: You don't mean that._

_Wufei: Try me._

_Quatre: Please? For my sake, at least? I need someone to be miserable with._

_Wufei: Or you could just talk to her already._

_Quatre: You could talk to him._

_Wufei: The last thing he needs is ammunition._

_Quatre: Come. Please._

_Wufei: I'm bringing a book._

_Quatre: Bring a library. Thank you._

I've always liked the sound of a party in full swing. The swell of music, the indistinguishable murmur of voices, the bright flashes of laughter. Being surrounded by people like that, happy people, it's a way of disappearing.

I don't get many chances to disappear.

"Relena?" It's Quatre. His touch is gentle and polite on my elbow; his smile is sunlight. "How are you? The party looks lovely."

It does. Appearance and substance, they're not opposites. My father taught me that. The way you dress, the acoustics of a room, the color of the tablecloths. It all matters.

And so, there are musicians in velvet dresses and tuxedos. There are crystal chandeliers casting rainbows on the walls. There's an enormous Christmas tree, star topped and dusted with fake snow. And I am, appropriately, standing just in front of it. The tablecloths are deepest navy, the silver shines, and the wine is very, very good. I do know how to throw a party, even when I'm celebrating breaking my mother's heart.

"Thank you," I say, but I must have the intonation wrong, because Quatre frowns.

"What's wrong?" he asks, tilting his head slightly toward me.

And I want to tell him. Oh, to lay my head on his shoulder and pour out the whole stupid story. The money (or lack of it, it turns out). The engagement my mother's somehow dug up. The very nice young man who's apparently been expecting to marry me since the day I was born. These worn ties of love and the older ties of blood. And me, trying once again to forge my own path. This time, there's no Heero to throw myself on like a particularly ineffective blade. (But he and Trowa are so besotted with each other I can hardly complain, can I?)

I want to tell him, but I can't.

If this is to work, and it has to work, then I have to keep it close. Those of us who made it through the war together, we're connected by so many lines of love and blood and anger that even I don't know which strands are safe to walk. Better to be still, to keep this secret small and safe, until the danger passes.

"Nothing," I say.

"I don't believe you."

"Well, that's not very nice of you, is it?"

His laugh is low and dry. "As Duo will happily tell you, I'm not the nice one."

"Who is?"

"I don't know. Maybe we all take turns."

Together, we scan the room for the other Gundam Pilots. Trowa and Heero are tucked into a corner, heads close, not talking. God save me from the specter of what I once wanted. Don't get me wrong, Heero was delicious back then, and he's only improved. Short still, but lean and muscular, with a stare like the barrel of a gun. But what did I think we would talk about?

Trowa matches him nicely. Taller, more angular, but equally reserved. I'm sure there are stories in their silences. I am equally sure I wouldn't care to read them.

Duo is where he should be, right in the center of the dance floor, moving from one partner to the next with easy grace and enthusiasm. He's dressed for the occasion, overdressed even, a tux and tails while everyone else has settled for suit jackets or cocktail dresses. Wherever he moves, the light of the room seems to follow. For all the darkness he lays claim to, Duo knows how to play the part of sunlight.

Sensing my gaze, he glances up from his partner and grins. I hide my own smile behind my hand.

"Where's Wufei?" I ask. "He did come, didn't he?"

Quatre nods toward the stairs. Wufei's on the second floor, standing by the railing. Impeccably dressed with posture that would have made my dance instructor weep with joy, he's got his head bent over an open book. But his eyes are on the dance floor.

"Should I ask him to dance?" I ask. "He looks wistful."

"I think he wants to be left alone to brood."

"But should he be?"

Quatre lays his palm flat on his chest and sighs. "I don't know. I've learned that sometimes it's easier to be left alone to hurt."

"Easy isn't always best, though."

His eyes are blue and bright and then he's looking away, shaking his head. Maybe I should be asking him what's wrong.

"No, it isn't. But we've all had enough of doing the difficult thing."

It's a hard point to argue, so I leave Wufei alone. There's no time, anyway. The band's current song is coming to an end, and I know what they'll be playing next. I scan the room, for my mother this time. She's by the window, talking to Zechs. I try not to wonder what they're plotting. It won't matter, anyway.

Quatre's fingers brush my palm. "Would you like to dance?"

It's tempting. Of all the pilots, I think he's changed the most. From fragile looking, sad-eyed teen, he's grown tall and broad, with the sort of wide shoulders and strong arms that make you want to snuggle close. But maybe what's best about him are the parts that have stayed the same. Gentle eyes, sun gold hair, and a smile that always means comfort.

Tempting, yes. But tonight, I need to be strong. And there's something about the comfort of a trusted friend that just undoes me.

"Later," I say and feel him shift away from me, posture closing. "Soon. I promise."

He relaxes again. "Can I get you some wine?"

"I--"

But then Duo is pushing his way through the remaining dancers, making a show of it, drawing murmurs. There's a slow swell of strings from the band, just loud enough to be heard but not noticed.

"Hey, Relena!" Duo grabs a glass from a passing waiter and taps it a few times. A handful of people glance up, but it's not quite enough to quiet the chattering. With a shrug, he lets the glass fall, crystal shattering against the marble, wine soaking into his socks. When a few people still insist on talking, he whistles, high and sharp.

All eyes on him. He winks at me.

I am lucky in my friends.

"That's better," Duo says. "Don't want anyone to miss this."

"What's he up to?" Quatre hisses in my ear. I shrug, pretending confusion.

"Yes, Duo?" I ask, pitching my voice to carry. "Did you want to dance?"

He closes the distance between us, light on his feet, practically dancing already. I sneak a glance toward the windows. My mother is still there, watching. She's likely been watching since he first said my name. Zechs is there too, arms crossed, already glaring daggers.

Good.

"Maybe," he says, grinning that warm, wild grin of his. "First, I thought I'd say a few words. Wanted to be sure everyone heard them."

"Yes?" Should I look puzzled? Expectant? I settle for a smile.

"I wanna thank you for everything. For getting everyone together like this. For keeping everyone together. For caring about people no one else cared about. For believing in us. In everyone. I didn't used to believe in peace. Didn't believe people really wanted it. You changed that. You believed for me. For everyone. We all love you for that. I know I do."

The room, already silent, feels like an in-drawn breath. Everyone waiting on his next words. I shift, smoothing my skirt, looking away despite myself. He's selling this better than I expected. My eyes are wet.

"Anyway. That's why I figured I'd ask. Think you might marry me?"

A collective gasp followed by a rising susurration of murmurs. Approval? Disapproval? It's impossible to tell, but I can guess. My mother's hands clenching into delicate fists. A book falling from the second floor and hitting the ground with a dull thud. Duo's eyes, blue-purple and gem bright. His smile like a promise.

Like a gift.

"Of course." It comes out so genuine, through a throat closed with emotion. I love him in that moment, and I think he loves me. Like a brother. Like a comrade in a war. Like a cage door, opening. "I would be honored."

Well, Mother. Let the games begin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duo's POV

_Zechs: Well? How did this happen? Why didn't you warn me?_

_Noin: You think I knew?_

_Zechs: I thought she was your friend._

_Noin: I thought she was, too! Look, it'll be ok._

_Zechs: She is a Peacecraft! She should marry someone of her own kind. He's beneath her. You have to make her see that!_

_Noin: ..._

_Zechs: Noin? Are you there?_

_Noin: Beneath her?_

_Zechs: She's royalty. He's street trash. Broke street trash._

_Noin: So nice to know how you really feel about the little people, Milliardo._

_Zechs: ..._

_Noin: I'm going to spend the night at Sally's._

_Zechs: I didn't mean us! Didn't mean_ you _._

_Noin: Don't call me._

I know what you're thinking. Somehow, it's all a lie.

But remember, it's me. Duo Maxwell. And Duo Maxwell doesn't lie.

Which doesn't mean I have to tell the whole truth, now does it? So I said, 'Relena, I love you,' and I meant, 'Relena, you're a friend and an icon and I would do anything for you. Even get married.'

And she says yes, and I say yes, and everyone starts leaving the party right quick, smiles pasted on, laughter high and nervous.

See, on the social scale, Relena's an eleven, and I'm a negative infinity. But no one can say that, not even Relena's mother, Mrs. Gritted-teeth-smile Darlian. (Though I do hear her mutter 'we'll talk about this later' when she hugs her daughter with supposed congratulations.) Everyone has to raise their glasses, make excuses, and get the hell out. 

Well, nearly everyone. The ballroom echoes as the last guests leave, everyone eager to be the first to call the gossip rags. But there's Quatre, seated, sipping a glass of wine. There are Heero and Trowa, standing behind him.

And of course, Wufei's still up on the second story, his preferred position. Looking down at the rest of us. God but he looks good. His tailor must want to fuck him. No suit fits that well unless your tailor is taking extremely exact measurements. If I were his tailor, I'd start with his...

Shoulders.

What'd you think I'd say? Look, a man's gotta take his time.

For the record, I don't just want to, uhh, fit the man's suit. I can't say when it happened. During the war. After the war. Somewhere along the line, I caught feelings for the asshole. God only knows why.

In love with Wufei. Marrying Relena. Welcome to my life.

Look, it's not like I haven't tried to tell him. My attempts have included, but were not limited to:

  1. Indirect approach (Had Trowa ask him out for me. Had a great time. Wufei's funnier than anyone thinks. Nearly pissed myself laughing. After dinner, he picks up half the check and says 'it's good to catch up with old friends.' Doesn't even fucking walk me home.)
  2. Subtlety (Broke into his house multiple times to leave gifts from a 'secret admirer.' Nearly died via explosion, gunshot, and dog.)
  3. Seduction (Broke into his house while he was out, brought dinner, waited on the couch naked. Never seen a man turn so red.)
  4. Direct Approach (Sent him a life-sized chocolate model of my head with a card that said, 'Love Duo.' Found the thing on my desk the next day with a note that said, 'I don't like chocolate.' What kind of fucker doesn't like chocolate?)
  5. Extra Direct Approach (Stood up in the middle of a meeting, rom-com style, and proclaimed 'I love Chang Wufei.' He flipped me off and stormed out. Got a lecture from Quatre on respecting other people's feelings. No one ever gets lectures on respecting _my_ feelings.)



So, now I don't try. Never let it be said that I can't take a hint.

But where was I? Right. Everyone leaves. Except the four people who you can't get rid of with an army of fucking robots. (Source: Personal observation from me, age 15.)

"Relena?" Quatre's voice is so soft, so careful. Like a feather pillow on top of a live grenade. "You're sure this-- that this is what you both want?"

Tactical error there for Mister Strategy. I'm the honest one. But, of course, it's her delicate feelings he's worried about. Never mind that this was her idea.

(Not that I'm allowed to say that.)

"Of course, they're not fucking sure." That's Wufei, coming down the stairs, and he never bothers to cover grenades with pillows. At best, he gives them to you frozen in ice, so they bite your fingers right before they blow off your hand. "What the hell kind of prank is this, Maxwell?"

"No joke," Relena says, taking my hand. "We're getting married."

"I wasn't asking you." Wufei, at least, knows who to aim an interrogation at.

"We're getting married." I echo. No lie there.

"Why?"

The answer I don't give goes a bit like this: Once upon a time Daddy Peacecraft decided to make sure that his daughter would start having little Peacecrafts as soon as possible. So, he put together a contract with another stupid-rich family, saying if Relena wasn't married by 22, their kids would get married and screw some grandkids into being. No big deal until Mr. Stupid-Rich contacted Mama Darlian, saying Stupid-Rich Junior was still on the market, and Relena's about to cross the 22 threshold. And Mama Darlian and Relena are a little bit broke (thanks, Daddy Darlian), so it all seems like a great idea. No one tells Relena, of course, but she finds out anyway. And, since Stupid-Rich is an important political type, she can't just say no.

Instead, she's got to get married. And she's got to do it before she 'officially' finds out that she's engaged. And it's got to be someone charming and terrible, because she doesn't want anyone complaining when the divorce papers are filed.

Enter me.

What I do say is, "'cuz I like her." It's just as true and a lot shorter.

"You're sure about this?" Heero asks, and I can't tell which one of us he's talking to.

"I'm sure," Relena says. "I know what I'm doing. It'll work out fine."

Trowa doesn't say anything. But he looks straight at me, that sharp, penetrating stare of his. I wink. He smiles.

"Then, congratulations." Heero, soft-touch that he is when it comes to Relena, lets her hug him. Then he and Trowa and Quatre all do the goodbye thing, with Quatre asking Relena about a dozen times if there's anything she needs.

Honestly, I'm a little offended.

Wufei doesn't leave. He watches the others go, and if I didn't know him, I'd say he was expressionless. But 'blank' on Wufei means 'so angry that all energy is channeling into not screaming incoherently.' So mostly, I just brace myself for the storm.

"Was there something you wanted to discuss?" Relena says, still gentle and sweet. She never did know the line between brave and suicidal.

"Congratulations on your engagement," he says, utterly cold. "I'm giving Duo a ride home."

"Nah, I'm good," I say. "I drove."

"I'm sure Relena can get your car to you. Let's go." If he were Heero, he'd have grabbed me. Quatre, he would've taken the time to talk to me into it. But Wufei just walks away. Like he knows I'll follow.

"Duo--" Relena says.

"I better talk to him," I say. "I'm sure your mom's waiting to pounce on you, anyway."

"You're sure?"

He's halfway to the door. Not even glancing back. Every line of him says don't touch, can't touch, dangerous. (Too good for the likes of you.)

Someday, I'll stop playing with knives. But not today.

"I'm sure." And I run after him. Like I always do.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wufei's POV

_Quatre: Don't do anything foolish. We should talk about this._

_Wufei: ..._

_Quatre: Wufei. Wufei, answer the phone._

_Wufei :..._

_Quatre: Please, Wufei. Just, calm down. We knew something like this would happen eventually. I mean, not this exactly. But something. They deserve to have lives. You want him to be happy, don't you?_

_Wufei: ..._

_Quatre: Remember, you're not allowed to kill people anymore._

Duo is a ball of barely contained energy in the passenger seat. He fidgets and shifts, staring out the window, rifling through my glove box, and tapping his fingers against his knee arrhythmically. I let him stew, ignoring the nervous glances and little half sighs that means he's abandoned another attempt to say something.

It is amazing how deeply you can want to wound someone you love. I want to cut his heart out and shoot it in to space, watch it drift and freeze among the stars. Why not? Didn't he just do the same to me?

"You're mad," he says at last. "I mean, you are mad, aren't you? Yeah. You're mad."

Mad? I left mad far behind, when he got down on his fucking knees and asked Relena to marry him. Mad is simple. Mad is easy. I am outraged. I am on fire. I am incandescent.

Quatre would remind me that I have no right. That Duo is not mine, has never been mine, and I can't control his choices.

But Quatre just took a dagger to the fucking heart, too. So, what the hell does he know?

Duo starts biting at his nails, a habit we're always fighting over, and I reach over to smack his hand away from his mouth. He catches my hand, wraps it in both of his and squeezes.

I jerk it away.

"Talk to me, Wufei. Come on. I didn't like, propose to your sister."

"Quatre's the one with the sisters."

"I didn't propose to his sisters either."

"No, you proposed to _Relena_."

He tugs at the end of his braid, winding it through his fingers like I've never done. "I didn’t know you had a thing for her, man."

It should be a joke, tossed at me flippant and smiling. But it comes out quiet, almost mournful. What, now he's afraid I'm after his girl?

"I don't have a 'thing' for anyone," I say. I'm not the one with a problem with lying. And besides, this obsession with Duo, it's not a 'thing.' It's a sickness. If I knew where it lived, I'd take a blade and cut the disease out. But the pain of it moves. Tightens my throat. Twists in my stomach. Burns through every inch of me when I look at him, bowtie hanging loose, collar unbuttoned, braid coming undone so that strands of hair hang in his eyes. I could cut myself to pieces and not be free of him. Not be free of the desire to tear him out of that shirt, tangle my hands in his hair, lick the sharp line of his collarbone, bite him right there, at the curve of his neck, so long hidden behind the ridiculous affectation of a Roman collar.

As if I might, even now, mark him mine. As if there's any chance for us.

Fuck it all, anyway.

I drive. He sulks. The trees whip past us, skeletal shadows, naked and shivering out there in the cold. Winter is one of Earth's best features. For a few months each year, it tries to rid itself of humanity, of life. Crops die. Trees go barren. Life giving waters turn to ice. I want to be that cold.

"Hey, Wufei?" he sounds almost timid.

"What?" I snap.

"That was our exit."

I watch the exit ramp dwindle in the rearview mirror. We could turn around at the next exit. But I don't want to drop him off. Don't want to go home.

"We're making a stop first," I say.

"Yeah, well, if you're gonna kill me, just remember I want my corpse wrapped up in det cord and stuffed with C4 for the funeral."

"I'm not going to kill you," I say. If nothing else, Quatre would never let me hear the end of it.

"Yeah. Quatre would never let you hear the end of it," Duo says, echoing my thoughts.

"You can write him a thank you note. He loves those."

"You two are close, huh?" Duo's staring out the window. He's tugged off the elastic on his braid and now he's teasing it loose, tucking away the little deadly surprises he still hides there as he works. I haven't seen his hair down since--

Since the time I came home to find him sitting naked on my couch. I didn't think I could ever hate him more than I did in that moment, when he somehow saw through the heart of my want and turned it into a game, a way to laugh at me.

I was wrong.

"We are," I admit.

"You got a thing for him?"

I can't help it. I laugh. "I thought I had a thing for Relena."

"All I know is, you must have a thing for someone. Else you woulda jumped my bones when you had the chance."

I pull off the freeway, following the familiar path mostly by memory. There's no streetlights here. No other cars.

"Not everyone is driven entirely by their hormones."

"You saying you're not into fucking, ever?"

"No."

"No as in no, or no as in yes?"

"Shut up, Duo."

We pull out of the trees, and the moon once again shines bright and clear on the landscape. Ahead of us is the bombed-out shell of a military base, broken and snow dusted, made beautiful by the dark and the moonlight. The road gives way to shattered asphalt, and I stop the car.

"Oh," says Duo.

We are both of us silent, and he has finally fallen still, his hair a cloak around his shoulders, falling in waves down his back.

He's beautiful like nothing I've ever known. And I love him. And it's too late.

The anger leaves all in a rush, hollowing me. There's nothing beneath it but shadow and want.

"Your work?" he asks.

I nod.

"We went through a lot of shit."

"We did a lot of shit."

He doesn't reply and the silence stretches taut between us. My skin burns with urgency, and I listen to his sharp, shallow breathing. With each exhale, I'm sure I'll lose control and touch him.

I don't touch him.

"You ok, man?" he asks. In the dark, his eyes are purple, edging on black.

"You ever feel like your treading water? Like you've been just keeping your head above the waves, but they're getting bigger by the minute?"

"Yeah," he says, on a long exhale. "I know that feeling."

"What do you do?"

"Take someone's hand, man. Get on a damn boat." He grabs my hand again, and I don't pull away this time. The rough pad of his thumb rubs a circle of goosebumps into my palm.

He thinks he's the boat. But he's the storm. And I don't know how to survive him.

"Is that what you're doing with Relena?" I ask.

He lets me go and leans against the car door.

"Nah. It's not like that. It's not like you think."

"Rash and impulsive?"

He laughs without smiling. "Nah, that bit, you got. Relena's a friend. She needed a favor. I'm looking out for her."

"You're marrying Relena as a favor?"

"You gonna go talking about this?"

It's my turn to laugh. "Who would I tell?"

"Sally. Quatre. You got friends. And they got friends. And their friends got friends." He worries the edge of his jacket. "We agreed it'd be better to keep it quiet."

"I know how to keep my mouth shut," I say.

He talks to the window, voice low and half-muffled, but I still pick up all the main points. Relena's birthright, come back to haunt her again. Duo all too happy to play the bad boy boyfriend and live a life of luxury for a while.

My first thought is, 'this is the stupidest plan I've ever heard' followed shortly by 'I have to tell Quatre.' And then my mind is singing 'it's not real, he's free, you haven't lost him.'

As if all that stood between us was this idiotic engagement.

"And you didn't think to talk to any of us about this?" I ask.

"Word travels. Besides, for some reason, I thought you might not go along with it." He tries out a smile, but it doesn't quite take hold. "You still pissed?"

"I wasn't--" But that's a lie even I can't sell. "I'm sorry. I overreacted. It's not my business."

"You're always getting mad at me," he complains. "Can't come in late from a mission. Can't get shot at. Can't marry the former queen of the world."

"You're a friend. I'm trying to save you from yourself."

"Heero does stupider shit than I do, and you don't yell at him."

"He's got Trowa."

"Yeah, because Trowa'll keep him in line." He's frowning at me now, paying attention. "You don't get mad at Quatre either."

"Congratulations, Duo. You are uniquely infuriating." I sit up, try to pull myself away from that moment, from the sense and smell of him. From the desperate want and the heady, useless relief of knowing it's all just a con. "Look, I apologized. It's fine. Marry Relena. Do what you want."

I reach to start the car, and he leans across me, taking the keys.

"Whatever I want, huh?"

"What do I care?"

It's cold in the car, the winter leaking in. I can feel his breath, warm and too close, and he doesn't pull away.

I lick my lips, gone suddenly dry, and try to swallow around the tightness in my throat. This is just one of his tricks, like all the times before.

Duo is sunlight and shadow, lightning and rain. And I'm a game he likes to play sometimes.

"I want you," he says, the words a shivering whisper against my skin.

"Don't start. I'm not falling for your stupid--"

"Shut up." The words are hard, sharp. There's no laughter there, no hint of the trickster waiting to emerge. He grabs my shirt, knuckles digging into my sternum. His hair falls in a curtain around us both, and his lips are against my ear. "I am sick of you not listening to me. I don't know how to make this any clearer, Chang Wufei. I have loved you for years. I have told you and told you and told you. And you act like-- I don't even know."

His grip loosens, and his breath is a defeated sigh against my cheek.

Know this: when I turn my head; when I find his lips with mine; when I kiss him, all awkward angles and confusion, when he all but lunges forward, and our teeth click, and I feel his laughter vibrating through me, and I let myself finally, finally reach up and tangle my hands in his hair.

When all that happens, it isn't instinct or impulse or wild whim. Not some wild surge of hormonal desire, between two men still young enough for foolishness. It is the best decision I've ever made, and I keep making it with every touch and taste and whisper.

"Wait," he hisses, setting his hand against my chest. "Wait."

I screwed it up. Somehow, I screwed it up. I freeze, breathless and confused.

"Just, what are we doing? If you're just letting off some steam, hell, I'll take it. But I'd like to know."

He just said he loved me. He did, didn't he? He said that.

I like to think I'm good with words, but some words are easier than others. Words like love and want, words he says so easily, they don't belong to me. They feel like a language I never learned to speak.

"Duo, you are the most singularly infuriating person I have ever met. How you've survived this long without being strangled in your sleep, I'll never know." I feel him start to push away from me and grab his wrist. "And most days, you are the only thing that makes this planet worth living on. I don't always know whether I belong in this peace. But I know you do. And I want to be where you are."

"Well," he says, "that works for me."

And then he kisses me, slower and longer and sweeter than before. And this, then, is the alternative to drowning in the storm of him. Letting the storm take you. Learning to fly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relena's POV  
> Art by Dragonchilde

_Duo: so this whole marriage thing..._

_Relena: Duo, I am shopping for dresses with my mother today. Do not do this to me._

_Duo: i'm not! but maybe we should tell our friends? you know? they might calm down_

_Relena: Who among our peer group is calm?_

_Duo: Quatre_

_Relena: Quatre who's barely spoken to me since the party?_

_Duo: yeah. because he doesn't know. tell him at least_

_Relena: Who is it you want to tell, Duo?_

_Duo: just think about it_

The shop is beautiful. That's my first thought. All cream and blush and ivory, vases of fresh flowers on every table, and despite the purpose of the errand, not a dress or register in sight. In a place like this, we all must pretend to have purer motives than commerce.

I'm not allowed to think, can we even afford this? Is it one more purchase on credit? Worse, one more favor, one more promise my mother's made without consulting me. Then again, she's already tried to sell me, so it can't get much worse, can it?

But the shop is beautiful, and I only wish it mattered. Should I even pick a dress I love? Or would it be better to be somehow scandalous, turn the dress into one more clear sign that I've gone briefly rash and impulsive, and I'm sure to be back to myself eventually. Ruined, perhaps, but not irreparably so. It's such a delicate line to walk.

But life, I've found, is full of such lines.

"Feeling a bit overwhelmed?" Noin asks, touching my arm. My guardian, once again. Stepping into the role of maid of honor and staring my mother and Milliardo down without blinking, all smiling, unflappable warmth. She hasn't even raised an eyebrow in suggested disapproval, and I want to cry with gratitude, except if I started, I might not stop.

Maybe Duo's right. Maybe I do need to talk to someone. But who? Noin? It seems a slap in the face after all her support.

Quatre?

Just the thought of the name hurts. I have believed, have needed to believe, in the safety and stability of his presence. Have needed to know that even if my affections for him were not so elegantly simple as his for me, that I could trust in his regard.

I had thought, in short, that we were friends. Dear friends.

He hasn't been taking my calls.

"Relena?" Mother this time. "If you aren't feeling well dear, we can do this another time. It's all happened in such a rush. There's no need to make decisions now."

"If they're to be married next month, Mrs. Darlian, Relena's going to need a dress." Noin is perfect: simply informative, no hint of censure or impatience. Like Mother hasn't already made a dozen similar comments.

"But there doesn’t need to be--" Mother starts to object.

"I'm fine," I say. The poor woman who owns this place, a gorgeous blond creature, tall and elegant in a bespoke suit, is still hovering by the seating area, waiting for me to acknowledge her. The man who opened the door, broad shouldered with dark hair and a downcast gaze, is similarly frozen by my hesitation. Enough. "Relena Darlian," I say. "Here for my appointment."

And as simple as that, the clockwork is in motion. Within minutes we're seated on suede couches, sipping champagne and eating sugar frosted berries, each gemlike in its perfection. The woman, Ms. Aurora Gold, asks open ended questions about my dream dress and takes meticulous notes in a small, neat hand. Her assistant, the dark-haired man, remains unintroduced and unspeaking. When our drinks run low, he pours.

"Modern, but with an eye to tradition," says Aurora, reading her notes. "Lacy but not overly adorned. Clean lines, but perhaps something with a bit of ruffle and volume."

I have been, perhaps, a bit indecisive.

"Maybe if she tried something on," Noin says curtly, over the sound of her phone buzzing in her purse. Whoever she's ignoring, they're getting to her.

"These decisions can't be rushed," Mother replies. She glances from Noin to her purse and manages a gracious smile. "If you need to step outside, I'm sure we can wait."

"It's nobody," Noin says, with enough venom that Mother cringes. "Telemarketers. You know how annoying they can be."

"Of course."

"What do you say, Ms. Darlian? Would you like to try something on? Are there any styles your fiancé is partial to?"

"A pair of jeans and a crop top," Mother mutters. Aurora's eyebrows fly upward. The assistant coughs.

"What she means is he's more the casual sort," I add. Which is true, at a sort of slant. What's more true, if less easily said, is that I don't know and haven't asked what Duo wants of this. Is it unfair to make him my savior without even asking his input?

This all feels unfair. To him. To the friends we've lied to. To my mother.

I am doing the best I can.

"Ms. Darlian?" It's the first the assistant has spoken, his voice low and oddly comfortable, warm as a friend's touch.

I blink tears from my eyes. "I'm just so excited."

"Of course. Shall I show you to the fitting room? Ms. Gold has some dresses selected already."

He holds out a hand, and I let him help me to my feet without thinking. The gentle pressure of his palm on mine should be forward, but I find myself comforted none-the-less. There's something about the man, the quiet of his voice, the way he holds himself. I like him immediately, for all that he still won't meet my gaze.

"I'll accompany her!" Aurora says, a bit sharply, jumping forward and taking my arm from the assistant. "Ms. Darlian will need help getting into the gowns."

The assistant melts away, unobjecting, and I'm left regretful of my company, though Aurora's been nothing but pleasant. Noin looks ready to follow, ever the guard, but I wave her away.

"I'll be right out," I promise.

"Forgive my brother," Aurora says, as we turn a corner and she opens a door to a room that is less fitting room and more luxury suite. There's a new tray of fruit waiting, a velvet fainting couch, a row of white dresses hanging against one wall, and a changing screen.

"It's a family business, then?" I ask.

She laughs, quietly. "Well, for the moment, anyway. He's... a bit adrift, I'm afraid."

"I'm sure he'll do just fine," I say. And I am. "What did you say his name was?"

"Ca-patin. Captain. Our father was eccentric."

"Ahh." I walk down the line of dresses, stopping at a ball gown. It's pale cream with meticulously detailed lace flowers flowing into a blush skirt of carefully layered, asymmetrical tulle. Despite myself, I find myself touching the lace, feeling the whisper of it against my skin. I want to wear something like this. Someday. Not next month in a rushed lie of a wedding.

"Would you like to try it on?" Aurora asks.

"No. I think not." I gesture to a simpler, a-line dress. "We'll start with that one."

She takes down the ball gown, despite my objection. "Just let's see it on."

And I, not quite able to resist, step behind the screen to change, assuring her that I'll ask if I need assistance. And, then, alone at last, I simply stand in the quiet and try to remember to breathe.

"Is he very dashing?" Aurora asks, after a moment has passed. "I hear you've been quite swept off your feet, Ms. Darlian."

"He's a very dear friend," I reply. "I've actually known him for years. Since the war."

"And you fell in love then? That is romantic."

I try to smile as I puzzle my way into the gown. It's a nice enough story. "No. The, umm, relationship is quite recent."

"These things can surprise us."

"I suppose." I step out from behind the screen, holding up the bodice. "I can't get the buttons."

"My pleasure. The dress suits you." She's slow and a bit clumsy as she buttons the dress. Perhaps it's usually the job of some other assistant. "Now, then, what do you think?"

She pushes me toward a trifold mirror in the corner, but I turn to the door. "I don't need to see."

I don't want to see.

"Well, let's show your friends at least."

With no ready excuse, I follow her back into the main room. Mother hasn't moved, but Noin is missing. I spot her near the door, cornering the assistant, Captain. The two of them are clearly involved in some heated argument. Noin is an angry cat corning a much larger dog, and despite his subdued demeanor, Captain shows no sign of being intimidated. I can't make out what they're saying, can't even imagine, and I freeze a moment, unsure of what to do.

"Oh, Ca-ptain," Aurora almost sings, and neither of them look up, or even react.

"Noin?" I call.

That works. She turns, her expression shifting from fury to something softer as she spots me. He looks up as well, the first time he has, and our gazes meet, and his eyes hold the clear blue warmth of a summer day. And--

Oh.

I know him.

A moment of fury, of confusion. The sense of falling.

"You know, Quatre, if you had told me you'd accepted a new job, I wouldn't have worried so much over you not taking my calls."

"I--" he says.

"You want me to rough him up?" Noin asks. "I'll do it, Relena. I will. I am sick and tired of people deciding they know what's best for you. No more of this deciding who's worthy of who."

I think, perhaps, we need to talk, Noin and I. There's too much anger there for Quatre alone.

"I never said anyone was unworthy." He reaches up and pulls off the very convincing wig, revealing the mess it's made of his hair. I resist the urge to straighten it.

"Oh? Then what's your objection?" she snarls.

I step forward, past my poor, confused mother, and tug Noin back. The dress feels delicious when I walk, swirling with every step.

"It's going to be all right," I say. "Please, take my mother home. Let me talk to him."

"But we have to find you a dress!" She takes a moment to look at me again, sighing. "You look lovely, Relena. And I want you to enjoy this."

"I think it's a little late for that. Don't worry. I can handle this."

It takes more arguing than that, but eventually she leaves, my mother at her side. Which leaves me with Quatre and one of his sisters. And how I didn't recognize the resemblance from the start, I don't even know.

"You own a dress shop?" I ask her.

"I own a lot of things," she replies. "And it was simple enough to purchase it, after your mother made the appointment."

At least the real owner isn't stuffed in a closet somewhere.

"I'm going to speak with your brother now." Sitting in the dress is a bit of a trick, but I manage it, picking up my champagne. "Thank you."

She takes the hint, such as it is, and disappears down the hallway. And maybe she's crouched just around the corner, but I hardly care.

Quatre sits on the far end of the table, and I try not to be hurt. It used to be, he'd take the seat next to me.

"What's this about?" I ask. "You just wanted to see the dress?"

"You look like a dream," he replies. "I knew that one would suit you."

"Quatre."

He takes a breath, looks at his hands, shakes his head. "I was worried. You've hardly mentioned Duo. I just wanted to be sure you were sure."

"By spying on me?"

"We are what we were made to be."

It's a fair point. "You could have talked to me."

"I was so--" he looks away. And in that moment, he looks so pained that I don't care what game he's been playing or how angry I should be. I cross to him in a shushing of skirts and sit beside him, like I always do.

"Quatre, I promise you. I know what I'm doing."

"What are you doing?" he asks. Quatre doesn't whine, of course. But it's a desperate sort of question.

_Tell him at least_ , said Duo. Tell Quatre.

I tell him. I tell the whole story. And by the end of it, his arm is pressed against mine, and we're leaning together, and I can feel the warmth of him even through his suit.

"I'm sorry," he says, when I finish. "If I had known, I would have done something."

"I have it under control."

He stares past me, frowning, then squares his shoulders. His hands are on mine, warm and safe, and he pulls them closer, half into his lap.

"Marry me."

In my life, it hasn't paid to hesitate, to let myself be confused. Still, I find myself struck silent. It such a thing, to hear the words you need to hear, from the person you wanted to say them, and know it's wrong, regardless.

"I told you. It has to be Duo. If it were you, Mother, everyone, would be over the moon. The divorce would be a nightmare."

"I'm not asking for a sham marriage," he says. "Maybe you don't love me now, but I love you. And we could be happy together. I know we could. Aren't we already?"

He would never be so cruel as to make a joke of this. I know the words are meant. That they're true. And still, I can't quite find the shape of them, can't find room for so much joy in a world that's only seemed to be collapsing.

"You never said--"

"I didn't want to presume. You have enough people asking for your attention."

"You mean it?"

He lifts my hands to his lips and brushes a reverent kiss across my knuckles. "More than anything."

And I don't know if it's love that I feel. It's a different emotion than the heady, schoolgirl rush I felt for Heero. It's the feeling of lying in the summer sun, warm and safe. It's a cup of tea and a good book on a rainy day. I look at Quatre, and he's smiling, and his smile feels like home.

"One day engaged to a common soldier, the next to the earth sphere's most eligible bachelor. What will the press say?"

"Whatever I tell them to. Is that a yes?"

"Yes," I say. "But not next month."

"I think we can make it a very long engagement." He stands, once again offering me his hand. "You still owe me a dance."

The only music is our beating hearts, but I take his hand. We spin through the shop, his hand on my waist, my head on his shoulder.

"I'm going to have to break up with Duo," I say.

He laughs, a soft, quiet chuckle, and kisses the top of my head. "I'm sure he'll enjoy the show of it. We'll duel if you ask it. Pistols at dawn?"

"I think that might spoil my image." I nuzzle closer. "I'm sure we can manufacture a scandal. Caught in bed with Wufei, that sort of thing."

"If only," Quatre says, his tone a bit more wistful than appropriate for the joke.

Later, I tell myself, I'll ask. For now, he is warm and sure-footed and near.

And we are dancing.

**Author's Note:**

> This was fun! Thanks to Talliya, for wrangling everyone and making this happen. And thanks to the community, for being so lovely I want to keep participating.
> 
> (For those of you wondering, yes this is missing a Quatre POV chapter. I meant for him to be the POV character in chapter 4, but forgot when I wrote it. By the time I realized I'd gotten mixed up, I was already halfway done. Oops!)


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